And he woke up.
by melange
Summary: who is the gunman of Layer02: Girls actually?


  
"Some choose to be minor characters. There is nothing wrong   
in this despite your suspicion, itself most likely colored   
by your own understandable and ordinary desire to take a   
central place in someone's story."  
  
-Micheal Joyce  
Author of Twelve Blue  
www.eastgate.com/TwelveBlue  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up.   
  
He bolted upright in his bed, breath still coming out in   
labored heaves. He had a weird dream. A girl had appeared in   
his dreams, whispering to him, urging him to do something...   
but what he could not remember.  
  
He grasped his head as the dull throb subsided. He chided   
himself for trying that drug last night. What was it called   
again? ...Accela.  
  
He turned his sleepy eyes to the clock sitting on his   
bedside table. 8:16am. A sudden fear seized him and he   
glanced at the calendar to make sure of the date. The 15th   
of June.  
  
Damn. He was late. He threw his sheets aside and let his   
feet drop to the floor. He stopped, his feet seemed to brush   
something cold. He looked down and for a moment he thought   
he saw the metallic glint of a gun beneath his feet...  
  
He blinked, shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs then   
looked again. No. There wasn't a gun there. He must have   
been seeing things. Then it occurred to him that his dream   
did involve a gun...  
  
He brushed it off, it was just a dream. He quickly changed   
and burst out of his room a few minutes before his phone   
rang...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up.  
  
He quickly sat up on his bed, breathing heavily. He had had   
a strange nightmare. The soft murmuring from a girl in his   
dreams with a long strand of hair tied with a crisscrossed   
rubber band down the left side of her face, whispering in   
his ears, asking him to do something... but what he could   
not recall.  
  
He head hurt. He held his forehead in his arms, making a   
mental note not to ever take that pill his hacker friend   
asked him to try. The rush he felt when under its influence   
was brain-numbing. Actually, he didn't recall how he got   
back here. He rubbed his temples, mentally repeating, "No   
more Accela..."  
  
He tilted his head to glance at his bedside table. The clock   
read 8.16am. He cringed. It can't be THAT late. Frantically   
he scrutinized his calendar. The 15th of June. The 15th.   
Those words stared at him. Didn't he see those same numbers   
yesterday? No matter. He was late.  
  
He let himself onto the floor, suddenly feeling an   
overwhelming sense of déjà vu. A slight chill went over him   
even before he touched its cold metal surface. Looking down,   
he saw something from his nightmare. A gun. Not just any   
gun. A gun with a laser aimer.  
  
He bent down to pick it up. Holding it in his hands he   
examined it. His hands trembled a bit. What did this mean?   
Halfway though inspecting the weapon, his phone rang.   
Springing to answer it he threw the gun down on his bed.   
  
"Yes sir! ...No Sir!"  
  
Silence...  
  
"I understand, Sir!"  
  
More uneasy silence. He shifted his feet nervously.  
  
"I'll come right away, Sir!"  
  
He slammed the phone and ran to his closet, hurriedly   
throwing on a mismatch of clothes. He was late. And his boss   
was going to kill him... or worse... fire him.  
  
He burst out of his room a few minutes later, the gun on his   
bed forgotten...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
...And he woke up.  
  
He forced himself into sitting position, still panting. A   
peculiar dream had come to him. A girl. A girl had   
metaphorized in his dream. She had brown hair. A strand of   
it streaming down the left side of her face in a braid. Her   
eyes were droopy with a sense of mischief in them. He face   
had been stretched out in an unnatural smile as she muttered   
in his ears. She had asked him to accomplish something,   
something not entirely pleasant, but... what was it?  
  
He groaned as he rubbed his eyes, the splitting migraine in   
his head thumping. He should have known better to have tried   
that drug, Accela, last night at Cyberia. It had totally   
messed him up. He couldn't remember much of anything after   
he took it. Only the raw sensation of his senses burning,   
seemingly overloaded with stimulus. Hell, he didn't even   
remember how he got home!  
  
"Tsck!" He exclaimed as another throb went splitting through   
his head. He had to stop moaning and move...  
  
And suddenly it felt to him like he KNEW what was going to   
happen. Now he would turn to look at the clock. It would   
flash 8.16am. He would panic. He would look at his calendar   
and the awfully familiar numbers of 6/15 would gaze back at   
him mockingly.   
  
Then he would try to get up. He would slip his legs down   
from the bed onto the floor and feel the unfamiliar lump of   
cold metal under his feet. And he knew what it was!  
  
He would reach down and bring the gun up. It felt like dead   
weight in his hands, this instrument of death. How did it   
get here? He knew without looking that it was burnished   
metal and had a laser aimer attached. Why did he know its   
features so well? The phone rang. Urgently. But he   
disregarded it, so intently was he staring at the gun.   
  
The screech of the phone reverberated through the room, but   
it did not irritate him. For among the frantic buzzes he   
sensed a presence, just like what he felt in his dream. The   
fuzzy image of a girl. The girl from his dreams.  
  
It was Her. He knew it was. She was manipulating everything,   
resetting time again and again. Because She wanted him to do   
something today, and he had not done it. He knew he would   
relive today again and again and again until he did what She   
wanted.  
  
But what did She want? What was it She murmured to him so   
many times in his dreams over and over again for lord knows   
how many todays?  
  
He did not know, he could not remember.   
  
But he knew one thing. That unless She was dead, he would   
never be free, he would forever be trapped in today.   
Reliving these same moments again and again and again and   
again...  
  
And he slipped the gun into his jacket, and walked off. To   
find Her. To Club Cyberia...  
  
  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****  
  
  
by melange  
melange@nervhq.org  
connect.to/digitalangel 


End file.
